


a guy like you should wear a warning

by aheshke



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Renly/Loras - Freeform, Clubbing, Crack, Humor, M/M, Oneshot, Pole Dancing, Swearing, blame deijis and pedro pascal for the inspo, idk what i'm even doing with this crackship anymore lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:14:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23146024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aheshke/pseuds/aheshke
Summary: When he decides to take advantage of cheap flight tickets between Sunspear and King’s Landing, twenty-six-year-old Oberyn never intends to end up half-naked, covered in glitter, and twerking for a clubbing crowd. And yet.
Relationships: OhBaelish, Petyr Baelish/Oberyn Martell
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: OhBaelish Cinematic Universe





	a guy like you should wear a warning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [galeneiis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/galeneiis/gifts).



When he decides to take advantage of cheap flight tickets between Sunspear and King’s Landing, twenty-six-year-old Oberyn never intends to end up half-naked, covered in glitter, and twerking for a clubbing crowd. And yet.

And yet, when a strikingly pretty blonde outside of the airport wolf-whistles at him and hands him a flyer to the grand opening of _The Mockingbird_ , a new club, it isn’t like he can refuse such a beauty, can he? (Also, she slips her number into his hand after snapping a selfie with him, so there’s that. Doran can judge him and harass him with emails from STI testing centers and family planning centers in Dorne all he pleases, but Oberyn is in Westeros to have a holiday, and by the gods, _he will_.)

So it is much to his shock when he calls the number and a smooth, deep voice picks up the line on the other end with a, “Yes?”

“Uhhh…” Stalling for time, Oberyn glances down at the flyer still in his hand. “I’m calling about _The Mockingbird_?”

“Our starting rate is thirty pounds an hour from nine in the evening until three in the morning, with an additional fifty pounds at the end of the night if you’re well-liked by the crowd. Do you accept?”

Oberyn isn’t sure what he is agreeing to, exactly, but what the hell, thirty pounds an hour is far more than his daily allowance from Doran. (Also, if he’s lucky, he’ll get to see that cute blonde again and enjoy her generous curves more intimately, the minx.)

“Sure, that’ll do,” he says. “When should I start?”

“Be at the back doors of _The Mockingbird_ no later than eight-thirty tonight,” the man replies, before ending the call.

* * *

When he arrives at _The Mockingbird_ , a simple two-story brick-and-mortar building painted black with a pink doorway and flashing neon signage, he has to duck through a narrow alley to find the back door (not easy to spot, as it has been painted the same black as the bricks). A woman with red hair piled into a mass of curls on top of her head opens the door when he knocks, flyer in hand. She stares at him, chewing her gum loudly as he stumbles through explaining himself, until he shows her the number he was given and mentions the call with the unnamed man.

“Oh, it’s you,” she says. “Petyr was hoping you’d take his offer. Let me get you the paperwork, hun.”

She hands him a clipboard with several legal-looking papers and a sparkly pink pen and indicates where he needs to sign at the bottom of each sheet. Reading legal documents has always been Doran’s job, so Oberyn barely glances over the terminology before signing and handing it back to her. It’s just one adventure on the first night of his holiday _and_ he’s getting paid to boot. He doesn’t need Doran’s scrutinizing, older-brother oversight.

He doesn’t really think too much on what his new job is until he sees the pretty blonde again, looking vaguely harassed with a pen stuck behind her ear, who breathes, “Oh, thank gods,” when she sees him and ushers him into a nearby room that’s only lit by a makeup vanity in the corner.

“Take off your clothes,” she says, rummaging through a clothes rack.

“Uh, I really wasn’t expecting us to hook up so quickly, darling, but if you insist—” He begins unbuttoning his shirt.

She doesn’t even turn to look at him, just waves a hand at him in irritation while pulling out a very small-looking pair of red spandex pants. “No, not that. You need to get ready! We open in twenty minutes!”

Oberyn begins to suspect he should have asked a few more questions earlier. “I’m sorry, _what_ —”

The blonde turns around with a skimpy pile of clothes and thrusts them into his arms. “No time, no time! Get your ass dressed!”

She barely leaves him alone to struggle into the tight spandex, a red and black letterman jacket with “Viper” printed on the back and black mesh instead of true sleeves, and thickly heeled, sparkly red boots that come up to his knees. There’s no shirt. She dashes back in as he’s hopping on one leg and while struggling with the last boot and looks at him critically before nodding with satisfaction.

“You’ll do. Makeup vanity, _now._ ”

He’s accepted his fate as being along for the ride, whatever this night is turning out to be, as she gels his hair into a pompadour and fixes his eyes with red eyeliner and silver glitter eyeshadow. As she gets body glitter and coats his chest with a generous amount of it, he has to ask her, struggling not to squirm from the brush, “And what exactly should I do once we open, precisely?”

“You look like you know how to dance,” she says, still concentrating on her work. “Do you?”

“Um, yes?”

“Good, then you’ll do just fine. Petyr will be pleased.”

“Who’s Petyr—”

She cuts him off and shoves him out the door and further into _The Mockingbird_. “No time, no time! I’m sure he’ll introduce himself soon enough. Now, get out there!”

He ends up pushed through a set of dark curtains and onto a stage next to another young man with long bronze curls, a few years younger than him by his best guess, and covered in a skimpy green and yellow floral outfit, similar only to his costume by the tall, heeled boots they both wear.

“Aaaaaand next to the Golden Flower, introduuuuucing our other Go-Go Boy of the night, the Red Viper!” A short, dark-haired man in an expensive-looking silver-and-blue suit stands below the stage with a mic. Belatedly, Oberyn recognizes his voice from the phone call. Loud cheering comes from the crowd standing beyond the man.

“I’m a _Go-Go Boy?!_ ” he asks the man next to him in disbelief. The Golden Flower glances sideways at Oberyn, amusement clear in his large blue eyes.

“Didn’t you read the paperwork?” the Golden Flower asks.

“As a matter of fact, I didn’t,” Oberyn says with a huff. Admittedly, he’s worn weirder outfits and been in weirder places before (including places he’s sure alcohol later made him forget), but never as a paid performer.

The Golden Flower raises his eyebrows. “Well then, you’d best follow my lead, Red Viper. You signed the nightly contract; you legally can’t go back now.”

As the opening bars to “Level Up” begin to play, Oberyn truly begins to wish he had asked a few more questions in advance.

For the first few songs, he’s admittedly awkward. He can keep a beat and move his hips well enough, but the Golden Flower certainly has more theatricality, even making use of the stripper pole in the center of the stage and blowing a kiss at a man wearing a paper crown in the crowd who responds very enthusiastically by throwing one-pound notes at the stage.

“Ah, my boyfriend Renly is my greatest fan,” the Golden Flower sighs happily as they take a break between songs to grab water offered to them. “Word of advice, newbie: Drink water, and no drinks offered to you tonight. You don’t want to stumble off the stage in those boots, take it from my past experiences.”

The man in the blue and silver suit joins them onstage, a knowing smile around his lips as he looks Oberyn up and down. The Golden Flower is certainly pretty, but this man is downright _handsome_ , from his gray-green catlike eyes to his neatly groomed beard and moustache. As a bisexual, Oberyn is no stranger to knowing when he finds someone attractive, especially when there’s a possibility the other person might like him back. Oberyn stares back at him, licking his lips and taking another sip from his water bottle before he asks, “Like what you see?”

“Hmm,” the man hums. “Mostly. I would prefer you make more use of the stage, but you’re certainly an improvement over Viserys, since that whiny shit quit without warning earlier today.”

Things click into place for Oberyn. “You’re Petyr?”

“The one and the same,” Petyr says. “Welcome to the grand opening of my club, Red Viper.”

“I’m actually—” Oberyn is about to introduce himself formally when Petyr puts a manicured finger to his lips and stops him.

“For tonight, you’re the Red Viper. Nobody really cares who you are here as much as how well you perform. Do your best to impress me if you want that bonus, won’t you?”

In Dorne, this sort of blunt and authoritative talk from a commoner would never be directed at Oberyn; the Dornish folk would be too worried about causing offense to their reigning royalty. He feels refreshed by this style of blunt honesty, this transactional talk, if he’s being completely honest. Petyr leaves the stage and Oberyn watches him, feeling a new energy thrum in his blood.

The DJ starts the music again and this time, Oberyn actually has a plan in mind. He sheds his jacket to the sound of hooting and wolf-whistles from the crowd and swings himself around the pole by his hands, bracing himself against it with a leg when his momentum finally slows. It really isn’t all that much different from using bars at the gym, he rationalizes as he uses his arm strength to prop himself horizontal to the stage. There’s a loud round of applause that grows louder when he braces himself against the pole and does the splits. He can’t hold that move for very long, so he very carefully jumps back down to the stage and sweeps a bow. The Golden Flower takes the pole after him, doing some complicated maneuver that involves a knee wrapped around the pole while he spins upside down.

Honestly, Oberyn is considering investing in some classes now that he knows how difficult it is.

Twerking, on the other hand…

His glorified ass shaking for money is enormously popular with the audience, judging by their subsequent cheers. He’s even hit in the face by a twenty-pound note, which he cheekily sticks down the front of his pants. A black lacy thong is tossed on stage and he pointedly doesn’t stick that down his pants, too.

He sees Petyr watching him at the front of the crowd, a satisfied smirk on his face. On a whim, Oberyn reaches down and extends his hand to the man, who narrows his eyes at him for a moment before shrugging and allowing himself to be helped up on the stage.

“I hope you realize part of your tips go to the club,” Petyr shouts above the music, moving in closer so he can be heard.

Oberyn shrugs. He figured he skipped reading rules like that in the paperwork. “Dance with me,” he shouts back to Petyr.

Petyr blinks rapidly, his self-assured mask dropping for a moment as he asks, “Are you sure?”

Oberyn doesn’t respond, just grabs him in close by the hips and starts moving in a simple gyrating dance to the music until he starts responding. As it turns out, there’s something of a Go-Go Boy in him, too, beneath the fitted suit and tie. He spins him across the stage, dodging the Golden Flower’s increasingly acrobatic pole dancing.

“You’re not half-bad,” Petyr admits when Oberyn spins him in close again, stepping between his legs so he can dip him. “You want a full-time gig here?”

“I’m only here for the week,” Oberyn admits. He _really_ likes the way Petyr rubs his hands along his bare arms.

“A pity,” Petyr murmurs, his eyes half-lidded, staring up at Oberyn with an intense look in his strangely colored eyes.

“Give me a chance to sign a new contract and maybe we can talk,” Oberyn says. Feeling bolder, he leans down and nuzzles up against Petyr’s ear, whispering, “After all, I’ll be here all night, darling.” The man shudders.

“Fuck,” he swears. “You’re one smooth man, Viper.”

“Does that mean I get a raise?” Oberyn asks innocently.

“Well, some things will be raised alright,” Petyr mutters almost too quietly for Oberyn to hear. He’s flushing a rather endearing shade of red.

Oberyn throws his head back and laughs. Perhaps tomorrow he’ll text Doran and tell him he’s taking an extended holiday after all. He grins, already thinking of the arguments _that_ will spawn, and presses a brief kiss to Petyr’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Title from “Toxic” by Britney Spears  
> \- “Level Up” by Ciara and Missy Elliot  
> \- Note the casual background Ros I snuck in here without even naming her lol.


End file.
